


A Man Worth Tears

by AdyBrooke14



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Battle, Death, Gen, Gore, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Prepare Emotionally, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdyBrooke14/pseuds/AdyBrooke14
Summary: Arthur faintly recalled a moment he had told Merlin that no man was worth his tears. He decided, however, that if any man were the exception it would be his servant.Because, after all, this was Merlin.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	A Man Worth Tears

There was too much blood. Too much blood to come out any person’s body, let alone Merlin’s.

Unfortunately, it was, In fact, Merlin who was bleeding profusely.

The raven haired young man had the sticky red substance dripping at a steady flow from a gaping hole in his abdomen, the result of a spear being plunged through the middle of his torso. 

In the heat of battle no less, a young bandit had taken keen notice of the servant’s glowing amber eyes as he hid behind a tree in the midst of battle. Being a fairly mentally stable young man, the bandit concluded he should put an end to the young raven. And so, Merlin lay in his current predicament, or more accurately, a pool of his own blood.

The spear fell limply to the side as Merlin let out a strangled grunt and his knees collapsed. He weakly stretched his pale hand to analyze the would but it fell unsuccessfully at his side.

Arthur barely flinched as his attacker struck him in the face, adrenaline coursing through every cell of his body. This was living. He effortlessly slid his blade across the man’s midsection in a diagonal slash that was no doubt fatal. He scanned the area and relaxed at the realization he had felled the last enemy. He still, however, had an uneasy shifting in his stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Then it hit him. Where on earth was his bumbling fool of a servant? The idiot was usually giving him an earful by now, having of course come out of his hiding place he selected during the entire battle. So where was the idiot?

Arthur just only managed to spot the faint crimson of Merlin’s tunic and raced to the young man’s side. Arthur felt his heart stop, the moment captured in a complete standstill. One unceasing word repeated itself as a mantra through his head. No, no, no, no, no...

He fell to his knees immediately and clutched Merlin’s head shakily, searching his neck for a pulse. He hardly registered the crimson liquid pooling into his hands, running down his sleeves at a sluggish pace. Nor did he focus of the deeply deposited wound, gushing forth of Merlin’s internal fluids and vital organs. In that world shaking moment, Merlin’s eyes fluttered into awareness.

“Arthur, it’s... it’s been a... a hon...or.”

He whispered into the King’s ear so delicately, Arthur was lucky to have captured the small voice. Arthur’s sobs racked his body and he allowed tear to flow freely down his face. None of his men were there at that moment, and he saw no reason for any of them to ever find out. 

Merlin’s eyes settled into a glossy state of bliss, completely oblivious to their surroundings and instead settling on a object in a far away distance.

He checked weakly for Merlin’s pulse. 

There wasn’t one.

And that’s when Arthur fell apart. The king wailed a blood curdling scream and clutched Merlin’s thin frame to his chest, burying his face in Merlin’s blue neckerchief. He soaked in the feeling of the material, each fiber and the texture of the clothing. This was the last time he would touch his closest companion. He shook violently, vibrating like a rock in an earthquake. Merlin’s limp head dangled off of Arthur’s arm.

Arthur faintly recalled a moment he had told Merlin that no man was worth his tears. He decided, however, that if any man were the exception it would be his servant. 

Because, after all, this was Merlin. The same Merlin that refused to wake Arthur at a decent hour in the mornings. The same Merlin that stole food for the knights from the kitchens. The same Merlin that had laid outside the throne room all night after the death of Uther so Arthur wouldn’t feel alone. The same Merlin that complained at the slightest discomfort but would withstand an fatal injury without so much as a wince. Because this was Merlin, who carried the weight of the world and asked someone else if they were okay. Perhaps, it was because Merlin was the only man who could get away with threatening the King’s life without anybody giving it so much as a second thought. Merlin was the only man who could manage to make Arthur love and hate him at the same time. Merlin was the only man who could look past titles and see Arthur as more than a king, as a man. Merlin was the only person who told Arthur what he needed to hear, instead of what he wanted to hear. 

Arthur released a final, wrenching sob from his broken form and in a shaky movement, he untied Merlin’s neckerchief. He tied the scarf around the hilt of his sword and vowed to think of his lost friend every time he unsheathed it. 

He gently reached his hand towards Merlin’s emotionless face and closed his eyes for the final time. He tenderly lowered his head and kissed the young man’s temple. It was not a kiss of love, or promise, or desperation. It was simply a gesture of affection passed from a living brother to his dead brother in their last moments together. 

As Arthur threw handfuls of soil onto Merlin’s pale corpse in the grave he had dug, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being buried himself with each grain of dirt.


End file.
